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Grief has defined my life for the past two years. It's what I think about when I'm not killing myself with homework. It's the door in my life that separates me from the rest of the world. I'm special. I'm hurt. I'm different.

I've been living this way for so long, I have long forgotten what it's like to live a life devoid of grief. Anything I do is because of my emotions, instead of my desires. I don't want to exist like this anymore; it's not even really living. It's breathing in and out, and going through the motions of what others think is normal.

Instead I want to sprout and blossom. I want to finish writing my novel. I want to help those others who are on the same side of the chasm separating the hurt from the normal. This is my path; this is my purpose.